


Miri's Trials

by lesbomancy



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Gen, Jedi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 11:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6078030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbomancy/pseuds/lesbomancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several of the trials of a young Jedi Padawan whom I roleplayed in-game for a time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miri's Trials

The Trial of Courage

Makem Te; an arid world located along the spice trading route in the Outer Rim, home to the brutish and stocky Swokes Swokes and a steady spice trade. Home to upstart smugglers, thieves, criminals, and a neutral Hutt-like government.

It was here that Jedi Master Tiir Cees and his young padawan-learner Miri Dekk were on a mission from the Jedi Council. A clandestine mission involving one particularly powerful spice runner and one of the best bounty hunters the galaxy never knew.

“This world is like a Deluvian fatworm,” Miri commented, wiping sweat from her forehead.

The streets of Thousand Thousand - the capital of Makem Te - were built wide to the point where freighters could likely hover through the main streets with ease. The side-effect of the wide-berthed Swokes Swokes and their streets meant a lot of traffic; more than most cities on most planets, considering the amount of off-worlders drawn in by spice production.

“Every action on your journey to becoming a jedi knight is a test. Experiencing these worlds are vital to understanding that there is more to adaptability than learning each saber style as proficiently as you have. They are vital to not only your growth, but your understanding of culture and the differences that come of it.”

Master Cees stopped mid-step; Miri knew from experience that this was a side-effect of traveling with a force sensitive Iktotchi. Their precognition in dangerous or soon-to-be dangerous missions the direct reason why Tiir Cees was such a respected jedi master.

“The private port would have been a poor choice, it seems. We will need an alternative.”

“Why not walk through the front door and.. ask for their leader?”

Cees turned to his right and swept his robe away, fatty fingers pointing towards the door to the spice refinery. His eyes locked on his young padawan; stoic, emotionless face staring straight into her soul.

“You will go forward and represent the negotiations, Miri,” his dark eyes turned to the sixteen year-old padawan. “Assuming you are able to provide an able distraction as I slip through the rear. If it comes to violence, you have been trained well enough to dispatch common thugs.. even if they outnumber you.”

“Is that normal, Master..? I am young.”

“It matters little how old you are, only how skilled you are.”

By the time she looked back to where Cees was standing he was gone. The only way forward, now, was through the refinery door and into a building filled with criminals; some of which with a slaving past. Some of which would treat her like an object instead of a person.

The heavy door opened with a hissing struggle of leaking hydraulics. The sounds of machines sorting, pressing, cutting, and packing spice were almost as overwhelming as the dusty, bothersome stench that wafted from the machines towards the door.

She came upon a rotund, purple-green Rodian sitting between two armed thugs. The Rodian chortled out commands in Huttese and, suddenly, the rafters were no longer filled with peaceful matenience droids going about repairs but armed guards of every naturally violent species imaginable.

“Excuse me,” her voice came to her far more meek than she imagined. Merely a hum below the constant crashing and popping of the machinery. “I am looking for Gunn Novan.”

The Rodian laughed, sitting up in his fairly round chair. Some of the others within the facility mimicking him out of respect. “Little human girl comes in here.. all alone?”

Pride was an ever-present trait in anyone borne of Dekk blood. Miri set her jaw and began practicing what her master had taught her: to feel her surroundings. Twelve men, all armed, were in the factory and training their blasters upon her. The Rodian - now standing - waddled towards Miri with it’s bulbous eyes blinking furiously.

“You’re a good girl. You’ll come with us.. and we’ll make sure you get taken care of.”

“No, She backed up a step, just barely avoiding the pale, fat Rodian hands and their grabby nature. "I am here for Gunn Novan. He is an important ally of the Jedi Council. I have come to escort him home or negotiate his release.”

“Human, we don’t have any intention of lettin’ Gunn go.” What passed for Rodian spit was hurled at Miri’s face. “Take her to the back. Strip her and set her up with the other dames.”

He waddled back towards his seat as if nothing would happen and, to be fair, he was facing down a fresh-faced kid with a padawan’s braid. The flanking men moved towards Miri with a somewhat hungry look about them and only one of them had their blasters ready to fire. Her eyes closed; reaching out with the force once more to feel the position of every person in the room.

“I warn you, I am not a simple girl! Please do not do something you will regret.”

They ignored Miri. Her mind was screaming in frustration, fear, and panic. Master Cees sent her in here to distract them, knowing full-well their intentions once they noticed her. Her thoughts raced and part of her - a strong part - wished to run out the door and not stop until she reached the starport. She was going to die.. or worse, in the hands of smugglers. A grimy, bony human hand grasped her shoulder forcefully and pulled.

“You have left me no choice!”

In the blink of an eye Miri removed her purple-hued saber from underneath her robe and severed both the arm of the man who grabbed her shoulder and both legs of the one moments away from hitting her in the back of her knees. Panic slithered into the soul of every being in the factory as their friends were disarmed before they could do anything.

The spicers on the scaffolding - still in awe - began to open fire out of panic. Miri’s languid, focused movements mirrored the rushing waters of a waterfall slipping between stones before the plummet, albeit in slow motion. The Rodian was decapitated as he raised his blaster pistol.

Miri’s arm shot out to a canister of spice, channeling the force to send it into the heating furnace. The resulting overflow of fire hurled most of the men on the scaffolding nearly two stories to their crispy, crunchy deaths. The factory’s panic sent droids hither and thither trying to stop fires, repair damage or move spice canisters. Most of the spicers simply.. gave up.

Only a few kept firing towards Miri as she advanced towards them, utilizing the Soresu form between cover and only ‘removing’ them of their arms or legs when it seemed as if the individual target was not going to surrender or run. Within five minutes the entire factory floor was devoid of combatants, only dead or wounded criminals sprawled out in almost the exact positions they stood in as she first entered the structure.

A door near the administrative hub of the building opened to reveal both Tiir Cees and Gunn Novan. They looked no worse for wear, but it was obvious that Master Cees encountered some resistance in freeing Gunn. The two men scanned the factory in restrained awe; the little girl with the ever-obvious padawan braid bested an entire room filled with violent degenerates.

Miri stood silently, watching the two gentlemen as they made their way down to the ground floor; Gunn purposefully stepping on the body of a wounded Quarren.

“You were very courageous to do this, Miri. I do not think of many students in the past who would have walked though that door at your stage in your training,” he paused, looking to the fat Rodian’s seared and headless body. “The council will know of this act. Pride is a downfall, but you were the one who did all the work on this mission.”

The black-haired girl smiled brightly and bowed to Cees in respect. “Thank you, master.” 

 

The Trial of Skill

Miri sat silently in the trials chamber, meditating. The only light was of a dimly lit chandelier hanging from the ceiling; statues of Jedi from millennia before her birth looming over her and the simulacrum of Exar Kun. A jedi healer stood in the balcony above them; his eyes watching carefully as his hand rested upon the fail safe switch that would terminate the simulacrum from going too far.

“You may begin when ready, padawan.”

The dead, holographic over-image of the simulacrum stared at her without any emotion; dead but for it’s programming to fight as Exar Kun has. It’s saberstaff was the only weapon it had, preventing the use of Kun’s considerable might when using raw Force energy.

She had proven herself amongst common thugs of overwhelming number, but she had never fought against another Force-user outside of tame, friendly sparring matches; not against a foe with skill far greater than hers would ever be.

Her lightsaber cut through the silence and she rose to her feet. Exar Kun’s visage set it’s feet apart and rushed towards Miri; saber cutting through the air in the reckless, unorthodox trademark that had killed more jedi than any historian would care to count: Jar'kai.

Their blades sent out teeth-rattling clangs and explosive pops as each of his strikes intended for a kill was met with her own saber, skillfully deflecting, jumping, and avoiding combat rather than trying to fight such a strong opponent. She understood that she could not beat such a foe; only last as long as possible.

The duel lasted hours. The large, barren room more akin to a gymnasium as the simulacrum and the young padawan expertly twirled, deflected, jabbed, and moved around one another. The jar'kai form was almost perfect.. and Miri was tiring.

She was not dull, however. Kun’s form was archaic to that which she was taught; there was a large zone in which he did not readily defend. It was only a week ago that she mastered the form that would allow a single, decisive blow past the simulacrum’s almost invincible defense.

Kun’s saberstaffed flurry created a vortex between himself and the young Jedi. Her tired, sweating body focused on the swirling movements of both of the blue saber ends and then drove her blade into his; the last attempt to boldly end the fight.

He pressed towards her, clearly gaining the strength advantage when - suddenly - she turned her saber off. The weight of the simulacrum’s body and force sent him stumbling forward as Miri dropped to her knees, turned her saber back on and sliced through the android’s legs in one swift, clean cut. A perfect use of Tràkata.

The holograph of Kun dissipated as the droid’s legless body collapsed in on itself; it’s face staring down in curiosity at it’s appendages twitching and squirting fluids. The young girl rose to her feet and let loose an exasperated sigh; eyes darting up to the balcony where her master now stood. The trial administrator’s jaw was almost to the floor.

“… oh. Well, uhh.. oh. Congratulations, padawan! That was-.. I programmed that form myself. You’re.. good. Very good!”

She smiled. She knew she was better than good, yet she also knew that again her pride would be unwarranted. She simply had done what the jedi had expected of her.


End file.
